Redemption
by Justonemorenerd
Summary: A set of stories about several champions who came to the league to escape horrible pasts, and their journeys to redemption. Rated T for some violence on the rift, and in flashbacks. Warwick, Soraka, Graves, Amumu, and perhaps more stories will be added, eventually. Chapters will be added... when I feel like it.


"You're a monster."

Warwick saw no need to argue.

"You killed them- all of them..." The wounded chem-baron was babbling in shock.

Warwick couldn't disagree there either.

He killed the man with a savage slash of his pneumatic claws, watching his blood spatter artfully across the grey, grime-encrusted bricks that characterized Zaun's many industrial buildings.

Blood.

Its scent was so strong in his nostrils. Tantalizing. Intoxicating.

Blood was Warwick's only thought in his scarred, twisted mind.

Blood...

Dripping

Gushing

Falling

Screaming

Pain

Knives

Chemicals

Blood!

Warwick snapped awake from another of the bloody memories that haunted him in the day, and tormented him by night. He hated the whirring pumps and snapping pistons that made him what he was: a monster. He was glad, at least, for the League. Here, at least, he couldn't kill the innocent, and occasionally he got the satisfaction of seeing Singed, the torturer himself dead and bleeding on the Fields of Justice.

Warwick was always alone. In some way or another, he had managed to estrange himself from nearly every champion in the Institute of War. He couldn't help it, either. When he smelled blood, it was almost as if Teemo had hit him with one of his cursed little blinding darts. He saw nothing but silhouettes in a red haze, and he cut down each one, until he was killed himself. He never had much memory of these incidents. The toxins that flowed through his veins distorted and deteriorated his mind, until all he could remember was the metallic scent of blood.

Warwick slowly uncurled his much-scarred body, and rolled himself onto his four limbs. Grunting with discomfort, he slowly raised himself into a standing position. He could still feel the pain from his last match. Annie had set his fur alight repeatedly, even though they were fighting on the same team. She always responded with giggles and an innocent, childish "sorry," but Warwick couldn't laugh it off. The searing pain reminded him only too much of his cruel past, and his attempt to kill Soraka long ago.

Soraka had used her power to burn him, and rightfully so. He regretted what he had done for years, and now the memory came to mind more and more frequently, as he saw her in various places around the Institute now and then. He hated having to see victims of his past life, and he couldn't blame her if she hated him as well.

Today, Warwick had been selected to compete in a match with Ashe, Braum, Brand, and Soraka. They were pitted against Quinn, Nautilus, Rengar, Teemo, and Singed.

Their summoners hand't chosen very well, but Warwick was unable to change anything. This would be his first, and hopefully last match with Soraka.

Warwick plodded down the hall tiredly, hoping that none of the other champions were awake yet. He made it into the courtyard without drawing anyone's notice. Warwick always awoke early before matches, before even the sun rose from slumber. He drew the scent of the morning into his nostrils. It was pleasant, not yet tainted with blood or fear. Warwick strode through the orchard contentedly, until he came to the large lake which fed the rivers that flowed through Summoner's Rift. He stepped in, one limb at a time, then swam with something between a dog-paddle and a human breaststroke. The water slowly loosened the tangles and mats of dried blood in his fur and soothed the pain of his cuts and burns. He felt like the previous match had been washed away, and felt instant relief as memories of yesterday's match began to fade as well.

He dove deeper, spotting a school of large silver fish darting about. He floated without moving for a moment, then grabbed one from behind as they passed beneath him. He swam back to shore, and enjoyed his kill, tearing it roughly with his jaws.

With a full stomach and an empty mind, he, shook himself like a dog, and walked back towards the Institute. He only made it about halfway through the orchard when one of his heavy, paw-like feet struck something semi-solid, causing it to emit a startled shriek. He hopped backwards, taken by suprise, as the thing that he had collided with stood up.

 _Oh gods,_ he thought.

It was Soraka. They both stood and stared for a moment, neither sure of what to say.

After several seconds of silence, Warwick spoke up. "Sorry..." He croaked, his half animal vocal chords making it difficult to speak at such a low volume. "There's usually no one else awake at this time. I- didn't expect anyone to be here." He ended lamely.

"Do not apologize. I should not have sat in the trail. I also did not expect any other champions to be awake." She replied formally and coldly.

"Why do you wake so early before a match?" Soraka retained the tone of polite, but forced conversation.

"Other champions do not like the way that I eat, wash and prepare. I get back to my den before anyone else awakes, that way I avoid- difficulties." Warwick said, staring down at his unmodified set of claws, which he held in front of him.

Sorka nodded understandingly.

"Once... the stars spoke to me. Now, they whisper, just out of my hearing. Sometimes, I come to watch them dance, hoping that they will speak to me once more." She said bitterly. Warwick cringed. He knew that it was his fault that the stars had shunned her.

Soraka sat down again, watching the stars fade as the sun rose. It was clear that she wished to say nothing more to him. Warwick turned and ran inside, hoping to avoid the majority of half-asleep champions.

Unfortunately, he ran straight into Rengar as he turned the corner.

"Watch yourself, Warwick, or you might just fall into the Rift."

Rengar chuckled at his own pun as he swaggered out into the courtyard, stretching his powerful limbs and unsheathing his claws.

Warwick never looked forward to a match, but he had to admit, this one looked like it was going to be considerably worse than usual.


End file.
